ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

11 - girls day

If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that I hate patchouli.

After I told Amy about my phone call and Meek's invite, she was ecstatic. She immediately started fussing over what I should wear and how I should look.

"Seriously?" she had scorned as she searched through my clothes. "Did you bring anything other than button-ups?"

"Yes," I replied defensively, crossing my arms, "I did. See-" I reached past her and pulled out a modest dress.

"You wore that when we went bowling."

"So?"

"So?" she echoed. "So, this will be your second time seeing him, and you want to wear the same thing both times?"

"Second? No, this is the third time."

"Third?"

"Yes, third," I repeated, puzzled. Then it hit me.

I had entirely forgotten to tell Amy about my encounter with Meeks at the cafe. I quickly caught her up on the interaction, intentionally leaving out a few of my glasses-related blunders.

"Are you dense? That changes everything!" she exclaimed. "Come on, idiot, we're getting you some new things."

Which brings us to now. Amy got permission a from Mrs. Duvall a few days prior for us to leave campus Wednesday for a "funeral".

Last I checked, funerals don't take place in the fragrance isle of a Woolworth's Department Store.

"How about this one?" my roommate asks, spritzing me with yet another overbearing perfume. The scents melted together into one pungent headache 5 sprays ago, yet the wretched patchouli somehow still shines through.

"Strong," I cough, waving the cloud away from my face.

"Good. We want strong."

I nod my head in agreement, hoping to prompt her to move on. She turns the bottle over in her hand, reading the label on the bottom.

"Holy christ, ten dollars?" Amy exclaims, causing the bottle to fumble in her hands. She snatches it back hasilty, now holding it with a bit more caution. "That's a bit out of my price-range..." She pauses. "Do you really like this one?"

"I mean, more than the others, I guess."

Amy sighs, once again passing the perfume back and forth in her hands. "Let me see if they have any free samples."

With that, she turns to flag down an associate, leaving me alone in a sea of overpriced fragrances and beauty products.

I stand awkwardly, messing with the hem of my skirt, suddenly taking note of the song playing in the store. The crackly hum of the outdated speakers gives the singer a more husky sound.

"I'm Mr. Blue, when you say you're sorry, then turn around..." he sings.

My directionless gaze finally latches on a clothing rack near the back of the store. I peer at Amy and try to grab her attention, but she's deep in conversation with one of the employees. I figure she'll be able to find me pretty quickly once she gets a chance, so I walk over to the clothes.

"I stay at home at night, right by the phone at night..."

I run my hands across the line of garments. They vary widely, everything from corduroy to velvet to sequins to polyester. A bright clearance sign hangs above the rack, offering as an explanation for the strange assortment.

One outfit in particular catches my eye. Pushing back the hangers, I get a better view of the garb: It's two pieces, a sweater and a skirt, with a matching headband hanging from the hook. The top is a soft yellow color with a wide yet shallow v-neckline. The skirt is pleated, much like my typical school uniform, except it's white, softer, and significantly shorter. The headband matches the skirt in color and material.

I tilt my head and search for a price tag. My hand finally finds the small piece of printed card stock.  4 different prices are listed, each significantly lower than the marked-out one preceding it.

$3.50? That's quite a steal..

I lift the hanger off of the rack and inspect the outfit closer. Once I verify that there's no obvious holes or rips, I search for a mirror. It doesn't take long to spot one on an adjacent wall.

"I won't tell you, why you paint the town..."

Approaching my reflection, I'm suddenly aware of the mess of blonde hair on my head. It was quite windy today, so I shouldn't be surprised, but the proper nature of the store prompts me to sheepishly smooth it down. Once I'm satisfied with that, I hold the outfit up to my figure.

It's exactly my size.

"They don't do samples-" Amy starts, causing me to jump.

"Jesus, Amy," I complain, "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"What, you couldn't hear me coming from a mile away on this squeaky linoleum floor?"

I roll my eyes. "So no samples, you said?"

"Sadly. But, the lady did give me an issue of their magazine from last month, and..." She flips through the pages. "Here- A sample for Chanel No. 5. It's not quite the same, but it's just as fancy."

I lean down and take a whiff of the perfume sample. Notes of jasmine and rose fill my senses, based by a gentle ambiguous floral scent. It's so much better than the other ones.

"Yeah, that works," I mumble, turning my attention back to the mirror. Amy looks with me.

"You like that?" she asks.

I nod. "It's only $3.50."

She looks me up and down. "Not my style, personally, but I suppose it's not for me. Go try it on."

"Call me Mr. Blue, call me Mr. Blue..." The singer's voice trails off as I close myself into the dressing room.

-

"Ok," Amy starts, hopping up from a chair as I exit the changing room, "I take back everything I said. That looks gorgeous on you."

I turn to the nearby mirror and look, rotating to get different angles. The fabric flows in sync with my movement.

"Huh..." I respond, a smile creeping onto my face. "I might just have to agree with you."

"Any boy who doesn't immediately fall for you in that is a damn fool." She takes my hand and twirls me around. I only lose my balance for a moment.

"I sure hope you're right."

"I always am. Come on, go get changed and let's get you ringed up."

I grin and turn on my heels, a bit more pep occupying my step. My joy continues to swell as I put on my uniform and meet Amy back at the register.  The cashier quietly bags my outfit and bids us farewell with an artificial customer-service good-bye.

Amy drops the magazine into the bag as we exit the store, switching her attention to the various restaurants in our vicinity. She asks for my input about where we should eat, but I just absentmindedly nod along.

This is really happening, it hits me as we pass the third pizza joint on the walk back to campus.

I'm going to a party with Steven Meeks in 3 days.